Literature
A Curse of Unmooring
Nestled in the deepest pits
of the shadows lining my ribs
stands a darkened,
drafty cobwebbed door.
If you tilt your head
J
U
S
T so
and listen closely,
the weathered man
In the skeletons of my past's moon
whispers the secrets
I've forged into ironwill
and cast into empty cages.
Unmoored,
unbound,
untethered ,
these ghosts haunt the corners
of my every distraction
singing,
slinging,
stinging the nettles
of all the thoughts
I cannot falter
and all the poisons
I cannot leash.
I am human,
I am broken,
I am misty eyed and unraveling,
a reveling of ribbonbreaths,
a revealing of lingerself
I could no more lay claim
than pay